


over the castle on the hill

by asfroste



Series: I miss the way you make me feel (it's real) [1]
Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: Anal Play, Anal Sex, BDSM, Comeplay, Established Relationship, M/M, Multiple Orgasms, Object Penetration, Painplay, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Restraints, Rough Sex, Sex Toys, Sex and also Love, bottom!patrick, throat-fucking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-20
Updated: 2017-08-20
Packaged: 2018-12-17 22:53:54
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,056
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11861322
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/asfroste/pseuds/asfroste
Summary: Jon has a secret room in the back of his closet.





	over the castle on the hill

**Author's Note:**

> this is mostly an exploration of my take on jonny and patrick in a developing bdsm relationship; it's maybe 40% exposition, 60% porn, 20% feelings. I’m terrible at math. also, definitely more of an id!fic than it should be. this is the porn that I desperately wanted to see in the world, but apparently I’m incapable of writing hardcore bdsm fic without lots of logistical set up and healthy communication and mushy feelings. and this isn’t even that hardcore (I think). 
> 
> title is from ed sheeran’s stupid song, because it popped into my head while I was writing and imprinted all over this fic, like a duckling or jacob black or something. 
> 
> anyway, enjoy!

Jon has a secret room in the back of his closet.

He set it up after the second cup win, when he and Patrick had already fallen in together after the lockout ended, so exhausted from the shortened season that all they could usually manage was some furious dry-humping and the occasional glorious blow job. After the frustration of the lockout, the demanding nature of the schedule, and the pressure of winning, it made perfect sense that the first time they actually fucked—Patrick on his back in Jon’s bed, begging for more and harder, fingers clawing at Jon’s back, while Jon yanked at Pat’s hair and bit at his neck—was already more intense than any other sex Jon had had in his life.

Later, he thinks he caught a glimpse of the chasm he and Patrick were poised on, saw the shadow of what more was waiting for them, when he remembers how desperate they were: how Patrick’s nails left bloody tracks in Jon’s skin, how the bruises on Patrick’s neck took days longer to fade than they should have. He remembers Patrick coming untouched and fucking him through it until Patrick was shuddering, face screwed up tightly, little hitching groans forced out of him with Jon’s every thrust. He remembers collapsing on Patrick when he came, covering him as thoroughly as he could, kissing everything he could reach, and that Patrick squeezed his arms and legs tightly around Jon, holding him in place until Jon’s cock was soft enough to slip out.

He’d known, vaguely, that something was different, that sex hadn’t ever been like this before. But he chalked it up to a release of tension after three months of foreplay and put it from his mind. They had enough to face on the ice; the rest could wait.

*

The room has a lock on it that only he and Patrick have keys for. It’s filled with warm colors—mahoganies and reds—and furnished only with things made from smooth wood and leather, because Jon always hated what he saw in porn, of shiny, clinical metal tables and cheap rope. The floor is hardwood, for practicality, but scattered all over are soft rugs and cushions. It isn’t a very big room, but it is soundproof and well-circulated and exactly what Jon and Patrick want in a room that no one else will ever see the inside of. In a way that Jon is only obliquely aware of, because he has never told anyone of the room’s existence, he’s proud of it, proud of this space that he and Patrick have made for themselves.

He did most of the work himself, with the exception of having the room made in the first place, which was done with some discrete carpenters whom Jon nonetheless made sure left with the impression that the room was going to be some secret, weird shrine to his hockey career. Jon’s closet shared a wall with a smaller guest room, so Jon has that closed off and walled over so that it looks like Jon has a longer hallway than he actually does.

Jon would rather be thought of as an obsessed weirdo (hearing about Crosby’s workout room with all the pictures of the captains actually made Jon feel a lot better) than have anyone know about what he and Patrick get up to in their privacy of their room. Not only because he’d never be able to face his parents again and his image would be forever tainted by the social stigma of having a private sex room, but also because this room was theirs—his and Patrick’s—and theirs alone.

*

Jon has the room made halfway through the offseason, when Patrick is visiting his family in Buffalo and Jon finally felt like he’d caught his breath after the excitement of the win and the parties and parades. He hasn’t had much time to think about his and Patrick’s relationship, beyond that it feels good and right, that they’re together now and for the foreseeable future. They haven’t had a serious conversation about it, but Jon doesn’t feel like they’ve needed to; he and Patrick have always been able to communicate better with their bodies than their words, and while that may yet get them in trouble, Jon knows they know where they stand with each other.

Before he left for Buffalo, Patrick rode him on the couch as slowly as he could, never breaking eye contact, holding Jon’s hands tight to the back of the couch, not letting him touch, until Jon had had enough and shoved Patrick down to fuck him breathless on the floor, keeping Patrick’s wrists pinned to either side of him and his ass tilted up on Jon’s lap. He’d pushed his come back up into Patrick with his fingers, afterwards, and bitten down on Patrick’s inner thigh hard enough to make him jerk and twist so deliciously around Jon’s hand that he did it again while curling his fingers and stretching Patrick’s rim just to hear the sloppy sounds his come made, and when he finally paid attention to Patrick’s dick, all it took for Patrick to come was Jon wrapping his hand lightly around it and thumbing the slit.

He’d kept his hands where they were while they kissed, just idly stroking Patrick’s perineum with one thumb and rubbing the very tip of Patrick’s dick with the other, enjoying the full-bodied ripples that each touch provoked in Patrick. Patrick’s hands were by his sides, right where Jon had put them. He’d made no move to stop Jon, only stared up at him through half-lidded eyes and let himself be kissed and touched, and Jon had only stopped because they’d caught sight of the time and realized that Patrick needed to go if he wanted to make his flight.

Jon is sitting on that same couch, remembering that last time, when he realizes two things: how fucking hard his cock is right now, and how much he hadn’t wanted to let Patrick up.

In a flash, then, Jon sees what’s going to happen. He thinks of Patrick under him, pliant and covered in come, his lips red and his eyes hazy. He thinks of how Patrick’s wrists had felt in his hands, and his in Patrick’s. He thinks of everything else they could do, and what it would mean, and knows without a doubt that they would never be able to stop.

For a moment, he tells Patrick later, he wasn’t sure. He’d sat there and thought about it and when thinking about it hadn’t made his erection any less insistent, he’d sighed and started planning. 

Patrick, of course, sees right through him, and forces him to admit that he’d sighed, jerked off on the couch, and _then_ started planning.

*

The first thing Jon gets for the room is a wide, heavy bench, made of soft brown studded leather and dark wood, which he mounts in the middle of the room and bolts to the floor. The height is adjustable, because Jon doesn’t do anything by halves, and if he’s going to put Patrick over this bench and fuck him, he wants to be able to do it standing sometimes and kneeling others.

The second thing he puts in are the restraints. They’re designed for comfort, to avoid chafing and prevent damage, but they’re thick and strong and real. The day Jon installs them, he’s torn between worrying that Patrick is going to think he’s a serial killer and fighting off a boner.

He stealthily acquires what he feels is a standard range of toys, things like dildos and vibes and cockrings, things he’s pretty sure Patrick will like, but decides to hold out on getting the full gamut of sex toys just yet. If this works out the way he’s fairly certain it’s going to, then Jon needs to leave them both some room for surprises and gifts. He also bulk-buys lube, with some variety, and the cost only embarrasses him a little.

Jon holds off on putting in the rest of the things he’s thoroughly researched incognito on Google  (because he’s paranoid and it’s paid off so far) because there’s still a niggling doubt on whether or not Patrick is as invested in this as Jon is, and if he’s going to want—well, everything that this is going to entail. Also, more practically speaking, Patrick’s going to have his own desires and opinions, and Jon wants to leave room for those. If this is going to work, it needs to be about what they want from each other and from this room.

*

Jon has to wait until training camp is over and preseason started before he can show Patrick the room. He couldn’t even bring himself to talk about it, though he was dying to. He just—he’ll know, right away, as soon as he shows Patrick the room. He’ll have his answer then, once Patrick sees, and they’ll talk about it—the room and everything it entails.

It’s painted and attractively lit—with dimming lightbulbs that Jon was assured were also energy-efficient—but empty except for the bench in the middle, currently resting at its lowest point, with the cuffs and chains in clear sight.

Patrick’s breath hitches when he sees it, and it’s just what Jon needed to hear. The lingering nervousness regarding Patrick’s response fades as he takes in the flush rising in Patrick’s cheeks and the white-knuckled grip he has on the doorframe of the room. This is going to work.

Jon sort of wondered if they’d end up christening the room right away when Patrick finally saw it, but they don’t quite make it there. Patrick tackles Jon backwards onto Jon’s bed, where they basically recreate the first time they hooked up and come in their pants while kissing so hard that Patrick’s lip splits and Jon’s jaw aches for days afterwards.

*

Patrick wants wall restraints and a fucking machine. He wants clamps and gags and plugs and spreader bars, a fancy table with drawers to hold everything, and tons of soft pillows and blankets. He wants everything right away, all at once, saying yes over and over when Jon takes him through the ideas he’s been ruminating on all summer. He agrees so readily, in fact, that it makes Jon suspicious.

“Patrick. You know what you’re—we’re—getting into with this, right?” he asks, because he has to.

Patrick rolls his eyes a little. “Yes, Jonathan.”

“Hey.”

Patrick blows out a breath. “I do. I really do. I haven’t done my homework as thoroughly as you—who even could, really— _ow_ —”  because Jon had to pinch him for that “—but I’ve always thought about this stuff.”

Jon’s somewhat mollified. “Always? Not just with us?”

Patrick makes a seesawing gesture with his hand. “More with us—you. I guess.” He’s blushing again, not quite able to meet Jon’s eyes.

There’s a rush of warmth in Jon’s chest that means he has to lean down and kiss Patrick. They’re lying on Jon’s bed, underwear sticky, because they haven’t managed to make it to the shower yet.

Patrick kisses back, then hisses when it makes his lip start bleeding again.

Jon thumbs at it, wrapping his hand around Patrick’s jaw. Patrick’s tongue darts out to lick, playful. Jon watches, feeling a little breathless at the sight. Then he shakes his head. They need to have this conversation, no matter how clunky the words feel. Patrick meets his eyes now, calm. Waiting.

“Pain?” Jon asks. Patrick nods.

“I—” _don’t want to hurt you_ , Jon should say, but that’s not quite it. He doesn’t want to _hurt_ Patrick, exactly. He doesn’t want to punish him or make him suffer. But. Even just seeing Patrick’s blood on his thumb, thinking of the way Patrick came just from Jon biting down on his lip to cause that split—he can’t deny the thrill it gives him, deep in his gut.

“Hey,” Patrick says. “It’s not about—whatever you’re thinking. It’s just. For me, at least, it’s—it makes everything else feel better. Amazing, even. And I can tell you like it, that you can do anything to me and I can take it.” His eyes go a little darker, making Jon’s heart beat faster in response. “And I can take it, Jonny.”

And, well. Jon can’t find any fault with that.

*

Jon and Patrick furnish the room over the next few months with everything they can think of. After the initial excitement dies down, Patrick gets a little bratty, demanding toys and changes to the room right away, chafing at Jon’s insistence to take it slow and do some research. He wants to start using it right away, at first, but when Jon actually sits him down on the bench in the otherwise empty room, he squirms away, saying it doesn’t feel right.

Jon rolls his eyes, because Patrick is honestly ridiculous, but he agrees. They need this to be perfect.

Perfect means they have to talk, openly and honestly, and figure things out. So they do. They talk on road trips, keeping the door open between their rooms, and they talk at home over the phone from their separate apartments. They talk with their words and their body language; Jon feels like he’s never known another person so well. He can instantly tell whether or not Patrick is into something just by the set of his jaw, the twitch of his hands—and Patrick is just as quick to pick up on Jon’s silent cues. It’s exhilarating, and it makes Jon want to get to the good stuff even more.

They’ve agreed to wait to do anything too heavy, because—as Jon pointed out in the beginning—once they commit, they’re not going to want to turn back.

Which is not to say that they stop having sex, or that the sex stops being rough and creative and mind-blowing, but they’re both aware of the anticipation curling underneath the surface when they fuck, when Jon lays Patrick out on his bed and tells him not to move, or when Patrick digs his nails into Jon’s ass, forcing his cock deeper down Patrick’s throat. They’re both thinking about what more is in store for them; they’re thinking how great it’s going to be when they won’t have to stop.

They discuss the logistics as thoroughly as they can, agreeing on the red light/green light system as their best option for communicating during, along with safewords for both of them just in case. They also have a list of all the things they both want to try, as well as a list of individual desires that can be revisited when the time is right.

They haven’t written down the list of things that neither of them want, the hard limits, because it’s pretty short, and also Jon is sure neither of them will ever forget what they are or even come close to trespassing against them. He knows it would kill him to ruin the space and the peace they’ve been working so hard to build, and the same is true for Patrick.

*

The season passes in a daze that Jon can only partially contribute to the post-win euphoria; the majority of his distraction stems from Patrick. Patrick, who is always there, dimpling coquettishly at Jon whenever he can get away with it, only ever really serious when he’s got Jon on top of him, pounding him through the mattress or floor or wherever they end up. Then he’s gasping and straining for more, his body so hungry for Jon’s that it’s unthinkable they manage to do anything else. But they do. They have practice and games and press and a thousand other things that prohibit them from touching skin like they always want. And they have to be careful, so careful, because there is a fine line between what everyone loves to see and what’s too much, too revealing for the way that Jon and Patrick’s relationship is unfolding.

That’s how Jon knew there had to be a room in the first place. He knew they would need it.

In spite of everything else, most of the time it still feels like a kind of honeymoon, he and Patrick relaxed but eager, content with the knowledge that they’ll soon have all that they want in their room, their space to be themselves—hockey is there, it’s huge and it’s important, but Jon knows they’re working for something deeper, something beyond. It was always going to be more than the typical scope of a relationship for them. He and Patrick have already been so elemental in each other’s lives; there was no way they could be together and have it be anything other than all-consuming. They’ve always been the best test of endurance for each other, so this—what this room represents, this private space in which they can explore the deepest depths of every nook and cranny of their desire for each other—is the only natural conclusion for them. In the room, they can cast off every concern, pretend the outside world doesn’t exist, be only for each other, in the ways their bodies have been yearning for before they knew what yearning was.

*

There’s so much buildup, tension and waiting and whining (on Patrick’s part), that Jon worries it’s going to seem almost anticlimactic when they finally get to use the room. They’ve planned it for late in February, with the long stretch of no games. Jon’s had ideas, almost too many to choose from, but they are new at this, and Jon is both cautious and pragmatic about what they can get up to without practice.

The room is much more full than when Jonny first showed it to Patrick. Against one wall, a large wheeled chest and a few tables are filled with different kinds of lube and an impressive variety of toys, while the other wall features a St. Andrew’s Cross and a mechanical fucking machine, because Patrick gets what he wants.

The corners are full of cushions and blankets, cozy in the face of all the equipment dominating the room. Somehow, it works.

Patrick and Jon are standing in the doorway, surveying their territory. Patrick is grinning, bright and happy, his arms wrapped around himself, shivering almost imperceptibly. It makes Jon’s heart squeeze in his chest, impossibly tight.

He nudges Patrick’s shoulder and nods at the bench in the center. Patrick huffs a laugh and goes, bouncing lightly on his feet. He sits and watches as Jon closes the door to the room.

Jon turns to face him, slowly. He takes a deep breath and sees Patrick match it. The weight of everything they’re about to do—everything they’ve been working towards—settles in on Jon’s shoulders. For a moment, it feels smothering. Patrick meets Jon’s eyes, unflinching, and the moment passes. This feels right.

Jon steps forward. This what he’s been waiting for.

*

Over time, Jon and Patrick work out what their favorite things to do in the room are and why.

Patrick is, inherently and unashamedly, lazy in bed. He wants Jon to do most of the work almost all of the time, which is why he prefers to bottom. He likes to tease, to act like he could care less whether or not Jon’s cock ends up in his ass, and it would bother Jon if he didn’t love to tease back, to bury his cock in Patrick’s ass and then refuse to move until Patrick is whining and straining for more. Patrick also has no appreciation for delayed gratification; he wants to get what he wants as soon and as hard as possible, which in turn makes Jon want to drag it out as long as he can. Patrick is sensitive and impatient and ridiculously responsive. He’s overflowing with want, unable to make a decision, which is why Jon is nominally the dom, though he would defer to Patrick in an instant.

What Jon loves most is to push Patrick, take him out of his mind with pleasure and pain in equal measures, draw out Patrick’s orgasm until he’s almost sobbing for it—or actually sobbing for it—and then keep him floating in that space until Patrick doesn’t know up from down and can only focus on the sensations Jon’s giving him. Selfishly, Jon loves that he can take whatever he wants from Patrick, that Patrick trusts Jon to use his body to wring out the most pleasurable experience for them both, whatever that entails.

Over time, Jon and Patrick figure these things out. They settle into their roles and explore all the scenes they’ve ever wanted to, with all the healthy enthusiasm of two flexible guys in the best shape of their lives. They have their outside lives, what the press sees and what their family and friends and teammates see, and they have the room. In there, they think of nothing but each other.

*

It turns out Jon was worried for nothing. The first time they use the room isn’t anticlimactic at all.

Jon strips Patrick of his clothing, piece by piece, kissing each patch of skin as it’s revealed. Patrick lets him, never taking his eyes off Jon, so pliable. Once Patrick’s naked, Jon slowly lays him flat on the bench, following him until they’re stretched out together, Jon’s fully clothed body hovering over Patrick’s. Jon keeps his mouth against Patrick’s as he glides his hands over Patrick’s arms, squeezing lightly, arranging them so Patrick’s wrists are crossed above his head. He squeezes tighter, a warning, and brings his mouth and his hands away to lean over and reach for the first set of cuffs. Underneath him, Patrick shivers.

Jon buckles the cuffs around Patrick’s wrists and links them together, then to the chain that connects them to the floor. Once it’s done, Patrick can only move his arms a scant few inches in any direction. He tries, yanking at the chain once, and then again, harder, only relaxing when he realizes he can’t get away. Jon sits back on his heels, watching, and feels Patrick’s erection stir against his ass as he wriggles around, getting comfortable.

“Green?” he asks, to be sure, and Patrick is quick to nod. Jon smiles and leans back down again, kissing Patrick’s cuffed wrists and then up and down his arms, deliberately keeping from making contact with Patrick’s dick, until Patrick is panting, already on edge.

Jon sits up then and crawls down Patrick’s body, pulling Patrick’s legs out straight. He bought this bench with Patrick’s height in mind, so with Patrick’s hands over his head, his feet are just hanging off the end, perfect for the cuffs that Jon put there. Jon buckles them into place around Patrick’s ankles, tightening the chains until Patrick’s legs are flat, pulled tight to the bench and anchored to the ground. He kisses his way up and down the beautiful open spread of Patrick’s legs, even skimming his lips over the tip of Patrick’s dick, while Patrick writhes, unable to move much for the way he’s tied down.

“Green?” Jon asks again, and Patrick’s breathless, “Fuck yes, green,” tells him everything he needed to hear about how this is going.

It’s thrilling in a way that makes Jon’s heart race, makes him want to work harder and make this as good as possible. He loves the sight of Patrick splayed out like this, loves the way Patrick’s fair skin stands out against the dark brown leather of the bench and the cuffs. He’s so turned on by the view that he has to take a second to adjust his own cock in his shorts, but he hasn’t spent a lifetime earning a reputation for being serious to deviate from his plan now.

Jon starts with his fingernails, which are cut short but still have some edge to them. He scrapes them against Patrick’s skin, starting at his wrists and working his way down, digging them in and dragging them down again and again until the white lines in Patrick’s skin turn bright red. He uses them mercilessly against Patrick’s ticklish sides, pinching or biting whenever Patrick’s moans turn into helpless giggles, just to hear him yelp. Jon moves down, tracing the stark lines of Patrick’s abs and hip flexors with his nails and then his tongue, avoiding Patrick’s dick, which is hard and starting to leak.

He continues the path of his nails down Patrick’s thighs, which he already knows are sensitive, and his calves, which are slim and secretly Jon’s favorite part of Patrick. When he gets to Patrick’s feet he hesitates, mouth gently at one of Patrick’s ankles while he looks back up the length of Patrick’s body, taking in the shadowy cleft of his ass and the pink flush of his dick, balls drawn up tight, the traces of Jon’s nails all over his body, dark red and raised. Patrick’s eyes are fluttering, his head thrown back, lost in the moment. When Jon doesn’t move, Patrick licks his lips and rolls his head to look at Jon, the blue of his eyes swallowed almost entirely by his darkened pupil.

“Please,” he whispers, and Jon is helpless to resist. He kisses Patrick’s ankle again and drags his nails up and down the soles of Patrick’s feet, so gently at first that Patrick ends up trying to kick out, only to be brought short by the chains connecting the cuffs around his ankles to the floor. Jon keeps it up, alternative hard strokes with soft, delicately torturing the arches of Patrick’s feet until Patrick is groaning and wiggling his hips in the air, his dick a bright, angry red. Jon’s overwhelmed at the sight of him; his own cock is throbbing in his shorts, completely ignored.

Jon brushes a kiss over each of Patrick’s feet, eliciting a full body twitch both times, and crawls back up onto the bench over Patrick’s body again, not letting his own cock touch Patrick’s.

“Hey,” Jon whispers, when he reaches Patrick’s face. “Hey,” he says again, when it doesn’t pull Patrick from his stupor, and kisses Patrick’s cheek. He kisses the other side, and then Patrick’s neck a few times, until Patrick rouses himself enough to nudge at Jon’s face with his nose, and then Jon takes Patrick’s mouth, opening it with his tongue, loving the taste of Patrick and the solid submissiveness of his body underneath Jon’s, where it belongs, where it always should be.

Jesus. There’s so much, Jon can’t take it anymore. He rips his mouth away and stares down at Patrick, both of them panting and desperate. Patrick’s eyes are wet at the corners when they meet Jon’s.

“I love you,” Jon chokes out, unable to look away. “I love you so goddamned much.” He reaches a hand down to Patrick’s dick and grips it, tightening and pulling only twice before Patrick’s whole body seizes and he comes, arching as much as he can, his mouth opening in a soundless scream that might, upon replay, be Jon’s name. Jon watches his face throughout it all, overcome, and doesn’t move his hand afterwards. He keeps pulling, until actual tears are leaking out of the corners of Patrick’s eyes, until Patrick’s dick is sticky and almost flaccid in his hand, and then he moves down to suck it into his mouth. Patrick tries to jerk his hips away, a sob tearing itself loose from his throat, but Jon is relentless.

He suckles at Patrick’s dick patiently until it’s hard again, loving the taste of Patrick’s come in the back of his throat, and then he fucks two fingers up into Patrick’s ass without lube, which makes Patrick’s stomach contract as he yanks against his restraints and gasps for air. Jon twists once, enjoying the sound Patrick makes, before reaching with his other hand to the lube stashed nearby. He drizzles it over his fingers without taking them out, and smears as much as he can into and around Patrick’s entrance, making it so sloppy wet it pools on the leather underneath him, before he reaches down into his own shorts and pulls his cock out. He slicks it up only perfunctorily, because he’s so hard he could go off just from his hand, before he fits the head at Patrick’s hole, pushing in just a little. Patrick’s hips rise to meet him, already trying to suck Jon’s cock in.

Jon has to lean up and kiss him, running his hands up Patrick’s arms until they’re gripping Patrick’s cuffed wrists. As he does, he slides his cock in slowly, working it in until his hips are flush with Patrick’s ass. He has to take a few seconds before he moves, because his head is spinning and his cock is throbbing and he has never felt anything so good in his entire life. Jon’s shorts are bunched under his ass, because he didn’t bother taking them off all the way, and the roughness of his shirt has to feel like hell on the scratches marking up Patrick’s torso. But Patrick still kisses Jon back, as much as he can when his breath hitches raggedly every time Jon thrusts in. Tied the way he is, blanketed by Jon’s body, all Patrick can do is lay there and take it as Jon fucks in hard and lingers, grinding his cock into Patrick’s ass, before pulling out again, the silky drag of lube making Patrick’s rim cling to Jon’s cock.

Patrick tears his mouth away eventually, gasping for air every time Jon slams into him. Jon runs a hand up Patrick’s chest to his throat, scratching lightly with his nails, kissing Patrick’s ear, neck, cheek, whatever he can reach. He shoves his knees against Patrick’s, forcing Patrick to lift his hips and spread his legs wider as Jon drives his cock in harder, hips moving faster. Jon’s dizzy, thinking of the stretch Patrick must be feeling in his muscles, tied down so thoroughly, completely at Jon’s mercy. The hot clutch of Patrick’s hole, tight and sticky-smooth, and the rough _uh uh uhs_ coming from Patrick’s throat are enough to threaten to undo him. He keeps fucking in, breathing wetly against Patrick’s throat, and then Jon’s coming, suddenly, the rush overtaking him almost before he was ready for it, heat suffusing his limbs. He pumps his load into Patrick with a few more thrusts and collapses, tingling all over. Jon doesn’t think he’s ever come that hard in his life.

He’s useless for a  few minutes, drifting, until Patrick makes a small sound underneath him and Jon abruptly snaps back into the scene. He shifts, drawing his cock out of Patrick’s ass slowly, enjoying the slow trickle of white that follows it. Patrick whimpers, needy, and Jon catches his lips in a kiss. 

"Don’t worry,” he murmurs. “I got you. We’re not done yet.” And then he reaches under the bench to find the dildo he’d placed there, a heavy glass one with bulges of increasing size. Patrick is watching with wide eyes, his pupils completely blown. He places it on Patrick’s lips first, just to see his tongue dart out and lick it, before he ducks down and kisses Patrick around it, letting their saliva gather and pool onto its tip. He pulls away enough to push the dildo further into Patrick’s mouth, far enough that Patrick chokes, the tendons in his throat standing out, before he draws it out and moves it down to Patrick’s hole, which is red and swollen. Patrick’s dick is still rock hard, flushed almost purple, and it twitches when Jon slips the dildo around Patrick’s rim, dipping it in and out, twisting it around to get it wet with lube and come. He presses it in, one then two then three round bulges swallowed up by Patrick’s ass. His hole looks so good around the glass, just like Jon knew it would.

Patrick is moaning, head thrown back, hips and abdominals undulating as much as they can as Jon fucks him with the dildo, slowly at first and then faster, rougher, until Patrick’s rim barely catches at the largest of the bulges and just takes it in, so loose and sloppy with it that Jon almost can’t wait to get his cock—already halfway to hard again—back in there and come a second time, and then maybe he’ll think about letting Patrick go.

In the meantime, he leans down to bite gently at the crown of Patrick’s dick, teeth catching on the folded ridge of the head, while Jon rubs two fingers up underneath Patrick’s balls, and it makes Patrick let out an strangled noise, like he wanted to shriek but couldn’t get enough air. Jon’s got the dildo moving pretty quickly in and out of Patrick’s ass, digs his fingers in above where Patrick’s rim is flexing around the dildo. He works the dildo in little pulses against where he knows Patrick’s prostate is right as he slides his mouth all the way down Patrick’s dick, and he feels Patrick’s orgasm hit him by the sudden clench of his balls and hole. Patrick thrashes in his cuffs with it, weak spurts of come dribbling into Jon’s mouth.

It takes Patrick longer to come down from this one, parts of his body twitching spasmodically, and Jon stills the dildo but doesn’t remove it, his mouth still around Patrick’s dick.

Patrick looks down at him, sweaty and flushed and gorgeous, and his mouth moves but no words come out. His eyes are thin slits of blue, glazed over. Jon kisses Patrick’s softening dick, wet from Jon’s mouth, leaves the dildo in Patrick’s ass, and shifts up to kneel over Patrick’s chest. He was going to come in Patrick’s ass again, but he can’t, not with Patrick’s mouth right there, red and ripe for the taking. Jon tucks his knees tight against Patrick’s bound arms and feeds Patrick his cock. Patrick takes it beautifully, eyelashes fluttering as his mouth drops open and Jon’s cock slides across his tongue. Patrick’s mouth is so wet and relaxed that Jon can just shove deep into his throat, so he does, three, four, five times, before his muscles lock up and he comes, shooting down Patrick’s throat. Jon pulls back before it’s really over, works his foreskin over the head a few times, wringing out the last few spurts of come onto Patrick’s face. He sits back on his heels when he’s done, feeling completely drained.

Underneath him, Patrick is breathing heavily, but he’s still in a way Jon’s never seen before, chained and spattered with come and staring at Jon almost reverentially. Jon eases himself off of Patrick’s chest to lie half next to, half on top of him, rubbing the come into Patrick’s skin in some places and licking it up in others. Patrick lets him, his eyes never leaving Jon’s face. He’s so calm, so good. Jon loves him.

They lay there for a while, cooling down, catching their breath. Patrick doesn’t make a move to get out of his restraints or ask Jon to take the toy from his ass, so Jon leaves him be. He pets Patrick where he can, wiping away the salt from his forehead and underneath his eyes, absently skimming his lips over Patrick’s neck and shoulder, while Patrick watches him, quiet and still.

“I love you too,” Patrick finally says, blinking, after an indeterminate amount of time. His voice is raw, barely there. He hasn’t looked away from Jon once. Jon makes sure his hand is steady as he raises it to stroke down Patrick’s cheek and throat. Patrick shivers, goosebumps rising over his skin, and his eyes finally close. Jon leans forward to kiss his eyelids, gently, before settling back down. Just a few more minutes, he thinks, and he’ll get Patrick untied and clean him up, bundle him off to bed, where they can sprawl out for what will most likely be an epic nap. When they wake up, they’ll need to talk, debrief, but for now they have this, the quiet comfort of their room, the sweat of their bodies, the tang of come in the air.

Just a few more minutes, Jon thinks.

*

_Finis_

 

**Author's Note:**

> please let me know if I need to tag for anything else! also please feel free to provide any and all sorts of critical commentary, I could definitely use some feedback on what I could have done better. this is the most sex I've ever written in one fic (to think I had only written blowjobs before this!) and while I had a lot of fun, I would love to know ways to improve. also! unbeta'd, and I'm obsessed with grammar, so if you see a mistake, tell me about it so I can ritually flagellate myself and then go and fix it. feel free to ask any questions if anything needs clarification as well. 
> 
> I just started a tumblr for hockey fic (asfroste . tumblr . com), come say hi! I'm awkward but nice, I swear.


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